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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395252">Unmasked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supurbangothic/pseuds/supurbangothic'>supurbangothic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Darker Than Black</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Contractors and Dolls feel emotions, Enemies to Lovers, Family Dynamics, M/M, adjusting canon to suit my whims, but it will NOT stay that way, it starts out canon, just differently, we goin off the rails in this one bois</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:28:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28395252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supurbangothic/pseuds/supurbangothic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Title: A Not-Quite-Logical Guide to Threat Neutralization by Jack Simon (Codename: November 11)</p><p>“Alright.”<br/>One word. Spoken softly, but clearly.The Shy Smile is back, and November is made abruptly, acutely aware that he might be the one getting played here. Still, he has his answer.<br/>“Yes?” he asks, because it never hurts to be certain. Li nods.<br/>“Yes. I’ll go out with you, Jack.”<br/>November smiles, feeling oddly victorious.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hei/November 11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Haha, I'm in Danger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Most people, no matter how hard they try, do not look intimidating soaking wet. Having worked with April for many years now, November 11 knows this well. Perhaps it has something to do with knowing he has the advantage. He and April work so well together because of their well-matched abilities, and if they’re up against the same threat then there’s scant little they <em> can’t </em>win against. If that threat has already been caught in his partner’s Storm then what about them could possibly intimidate him? He’s practically already won.</p><p>That being said, the dark figure facing November down across a poorly lit, rain-slicked street gives off a certain air that puts him on edge. The stranger is practically a silhouette: dark hair, dark coat, dark gloves and boots. The only indication that November isn’t looking at a walking shadow is the striking white mask covering its face. Blank, neutral. Unreadable. Something in the way they stand suggests they could spring into fluid, deadly motion at any time. November isn’t concerned by this, precisely, but if this stranger is who he suspects then any amount of proximity isn’t exactly <em> comfortable.  </em></p><p>Every contractor involved with MI6 has heard the rumors of the Back Reaper. At this point, the story is more legend than rumor. A terrifyingly efficient assassin intimately involved with the circumstances surrounding the collapse of Heaven’s Gate, supposedly in the current employ of a mysterious organization known only as ‘The Syndicate.’ Even with the muted emotions of a contractor, November can admit a certain amount of excitement at the idea that BK-201 is <em> right here, </em>in front of him, likely gearing up for a first-hand demonstration of that legendary skill.</p><p>November hopes he won’t be disappointed.</p><p>It’s entirely due to instinct that he’s able to defect the knife that comes streaking towards him, too fast for his eyes to track. He drops into a crouch and activates his ability, ice rushing across the ground, but all it reaches is empty space. BK-201 is airborne, jerking sideways and disappearing into the adjacent park. November allows himself a sound of annoyance. Evasion is certainly the <em> logical </em>choice on the other contractor’s part, but chasing him down is bound to be both time-consuming and difficult. Even so, November darts for the tree-line. The necessary effort is well worth the information BK-201 could provide.</p><p>Supernaturally fast as the Black Reaper is (November barely manages to keep his awe in check, because this part of the legend is dizzyingly true), he catches up to the other contractor fairly quickly. Shards of ice rip through the air. None of them hit flesh, and BK-201 suddenly disappears from his line of sight. A fraction of a second of confusion is shocked from his mind by abrupt realization; and he is saved once again by sharp combat instincts, throwing himself out of the way just as a leather-clad hand swipes the air where his head had just been. The stench of ozone hits him and the lights along the walking path explode with a successive <em> pop-pop-pop! </em></p><p>November throws his unprotected back against a tree while his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. When the world sharpens around him, BK-201 is gone.</p><p>“Damn,” November says, panting a bit even as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. The long drag his price demands catches in his throat and burns as he violently hacks it back out. After a few deep, steadying breaths, he takes off at a jog back to April and July. The young doll blinks dull eyes up at him and points back towards their escort, still obscured by the passing train.</p><p>“The Detective,” July says, voice monotone. There’s nothing to do but wait for the last car to pass, and in the interim November relays his brief encounter with BK-201.</p><p>“He’s <em> fast, </em> ” he marvels more to himself than to April, once he’s caught her up. The adrenalin rush has begun to wear off enough that the novelty of the situation is sinking in. He’s just gone toe-to-toe with quite possibly the most dangerous man in the world, and lived. Though he’s under no illusion: if BK-201 wanted him dead, he would be. No, this mission had a different objective, and he bets he can guess what it is. November almost doubts his memory of the past few minutes, because it should be impossible for a person to move that fast. It’s impossible for a contractor to have more than one ability, that much has been proven time and time again by Gate scientists around the world. November had <em> seen </em> BK-201 use his electricity manipulation. An ability that affects his speed is out of the question. Somehow, that’s <em> more </em>terrifying, that the Black Reaper is as fast as he is completely of his own merit.</p><p>November isn’t reeling, there isn’t the time, but an urban legend has just confirmed it’s existence right before his eyes. Just as real as himself or April, solid and alive and breathtakingly deadly.</p><p>“Got a crush, One-One?” April asks, lips quirking at the rim of a beer can. November doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he smirks back.</p><p>“Hilarious.” His voice is dry, unamused. A crush? Hardly, but he is an admirer of skill in any form, and an appreciator of grace. BK-201 has both in spades, and November can’t help but feel it’s a shame those qualities are currently employed against him.</p><p>Yes, quite a shame.</p><p> </p><p>The train passes and they approach their escort. Detective Kirihara and her team are slumped in their seats, unconscious. Her gun rests in her lap, and November reaches into the car to flick the safety back on before replacing it.</p><p>Predictably, when they check the boot, Havoc is gone.</p>
<hr/><p>Regained abilities or no, no one could survive the razor-sharp lances that he punches through the redheaded contractor’s back. November watches her stumble away, held up by BK-201, and lets them go. No sense in putting himself within striking distance of the Black Reaper when Havoc would be dead in minutes, regardless. Vaguely, November finds the loss of her life unfortunate. Not out of anything so foolish as empathy, or regret; but the simple waste of a valuable commodity leaves him feeling slightly unsatisfied. Well, nothing to be done for it. Orders are orders, and dead is dead.</p><p>It isn’t as though the regressor’s short, bloody existence could exactly be called ‘living,’ anyway. The thought isn’t as settling as it should be.</p>
<hr/><p>Havoc is dead. This is an unquestionable fact; he’d aimed for the heart, and at such close range, November 11 doesn’t miss. Yes, she is most certainly dead. So <em> why </em> is BK-201 emerging from a shadowy alley into the stretch of road between November and April, poised to strike? It doesn’t make <em> sense, </em> Havoc is dead so the Reaper’s mission should be over. There’s no logical reason for the undue risk a confrontation causes. So again, <em> why is he here? </em></p><p>November doesn’t have the time for incredulity, not now that he’s seen just how quickly BK-201 can move. His hand slams down on the concrete and ice surges over the ground, coming to a shattering halt as electricity crackles a meter away from black boots. Trying to keep the masked contractor from finding his balance, November whips the same lances that ended Havoc’s life at the man, who dodges right and retaliates with an attack of his own. The MI6 agent sees the knife coming, this time. It’s easy enough to deflect with a spear that he then sends arcing with deadly aim and killer intent, which should be more than enough to end the fight.</p><p>At least it would be, if he were used to fighting opponents with preternatural speed and flexibility. Consequently, the spear embeds itself harmlessly in a brick wall just behind BK-201. The Reaper is a barely visible blur of motion in the dark. But he has to land eventually, and November doesn’t make the same mistakes twice. The Reaper’s feet are frozen to the street as soon as his boots hit pavement. Dark hair whips against a white mask, and November can <em> feel </em>the murderous intent as hidden eyes stare him down. He smirks.</p><p>“Got you,” he says. The wind carries the scent of ozone to him, the air growing charged. He indicates his insulated rubber boots. “The Japanese truly are innovative, aren’t they? Your ability won’t work like this, I’m afraid. So sorry.”</p><p>A pull in his gut indicates his contract demanding its price. Reaching into his jacket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter gives him time to consider his next words. He doesn’t cough this time, thankfully.</p><p>“You’re a tricky one, I’ll give you that.” November takes another drag. As the smoke leaves his lungs, his eyes narrow, piercing. “Havoc is dead. One can assume that means your mission is over. If you tell us more about the Syndicate who <em> gave </em>you that mission, we can promise a certain measure of...we’ll call it immunity by omission. You won’t be turned over to the police or PANDORA. As far as we’ll be concerned, this conversation never happened.”</p><p>BK-201 gives no indication of backing down. If anything his rage seems to sharpen, and November feels a twinge of irritation. There’s no reason for this to be so difficult. It makes no sense why BK-201 should be so angry, when all November did was complete the Reaper’s mission for him.</p><p>“Remember, you’re a contractor,” November says. His voice is cold steel. “Make the logical choice, BK-201.”</p><p>He lifts the cigarette to his lips again and takes a long drag. Why, exactly, is he so irritated? Before he can consider the answer, a deep pain lances through his forearm and the cigarette tumbles from his fingers. The knife in his arm is small and far from deadly. At least, he thinks so until his eyes catch on a glint of silver, a hairline slice through the dark. Wire. Wire that BK-201 clutches the other end of.</p><p><em> Shit! </em>November rips the blade free with a quiet grunt of pain, just in time. Electricity crackles along the wire with such intensity that the icy ground the knife lands on sizzles and steams, before shattering violently. Over the sound and the distance between them, he swears he hears the Reaper speak a single syllable.</p><p>“Die.”</p><p><em> Not today, </em>November thinks as he activates his ability. But instead of the frozen corpse he expects to see, the street in front of him erupts into flames.</p><p>When the blaze calms enough to see clearly, the Reaper has vanished, leaving only the bloody gash in November’s arm as proof he was there at all. The brit clicks his tongue and plucks out a cigarette. What a waste of time.</p>
<hr/><p>The last think he’s expecting are orders that his team will be staying in Japan for the foreseeable future, working in tandem with Kirihara and her team. Still, he can see the advantage to the Crown of having capable contractors working near the Gate, and orders are orders. He, April, and July are put up in a high-end hotel with a decent in-house restaurant and bar, all expenses paid. Something tells him that MI6 might regret that decision when they see the bill for April’s bar tab. All-in-all, November is quite satisfied with the arrangement.</p><p>Their first <em> official </em>week in Japan is lacking in excitement, but productive. Settling into their new environment is a lot of work and little play, though with April around the days never feel truly dull. She and November go about putting the new office in order; while July steadily works through sorting the veritable mountain of paperwork the Kōno had pressed into November’s waiting arms with a wicked sort of glee.</p><p>“Pleased to be working with you, agent,” the Japanese blond had said, but his tone suggests he’s more pleased with his own lessened workload. Most of the paperwork consists of the typical fanfare, and none of it is particularly urgent, so July files them away for future review by his guardian contractors. If shown a system of organization, the doll picks up on it rather quickly, which is useful for minor household chores or office work. When the last form has been meticulously filed, November swears the little doll’s eyes take on a pleased, serene cast. The contractor smiles at the sight and ruffles July’s hair.</p><p>“Good work.” July gives no indication to having heard him, but November goes back to work feeling somehow lighter. Slowly but surely, they’re settling in nicely.</p><p> </p><p>At the end of the week, the MI6 team manages to cajole their Japanese counterparts into a celebratory dinner, almost entirely thanks to the promise of free food and drinks. Really, Chief Kirihara is the only one who puts up any resistance. Although she caves quickly enough when her subordinates turn hopeful eyes in her direction. It appears she does have a certain soft spot for them, November notices with no small amount of amusement. In that regard, at least, the two of them are similar.</p><p>That evening after work, they all find themselves crammed into a sizable corner booth at the hotel bar. Kirihara and November sit facing each other on the outside edges, Saitō and July seated next to them, respectively. July is quiet as always, and the Chief and her subordinate attempt stunted small talk that tapers off quickly. It’s an awkward sort of air. Incidentally, November is enjoying himself immensely. Perhaps this makes him a bad person, but who ever heard of a moral contractor?</p><p>April and Kōno sit together on the booth’s inside edge, chatting easily, totally oblivious to the mood of the rest of the table.</p><p>November decides to take pity on his new coworkers when he catches Saitō having a self-inflicted staredown with July, the large man’s expression growing more discomfited by the second. MI6’s top field agent laughs lightly.</p><p>“So, Detective Kirihara. How did you come to be the Chief of Section 4? I can’t imagine ‘monster hunter’ is a widely pursued career path.” His voice carries none of the edge it could have; instead he keeps his tone light, conversational. Disarming. By the way her eyes narrow, he can tell she’s not buying it. Still, she sighs and slides a menu towards herself as she makes to answer.</p><p>“I always wanted to be a police officer. To help and protect people, especially those who can’t protect themselves.” Her eyes don’t leave the menu. Saitō seems to be holding his breath, and Kōno has stopped conversing with April in favor of watching the Chief with interest.”My first year on the force, one of my unit-mates manifested as a contractor. I saw it. When I went home, I asked my father - who was Chief of the Bureau as the time - about what I had seen. That was the night I learned about...everything. Contractors, Dolls, the Gates. The next morning, my unit-mate had vanished, and no one I spoke to would acknowledge that she had existed at all.”</p><p>The menu snaps shut, and defiant brown eyes meet and hold November’s own. Kirihara opens her mouth to speak, but she doesn’t get the chance: April’s hand shoots into the air and she barks a loud, “Excuse me!”</p><p>A waiter appears at their table seemingly between one breath and the next. For the life of him, November can’t figure out how he got their so quickly. There had been no wait-staff near their table a moment ago. Kirihara looks disgruntled at the interruption, but then she looks up at the waiter and annoyance melts into pure surprise.</p><p>“Li?”</p><p>Their waiter is a young man with a mop of dark hair and blue eyes that are darker than any November’s ever seen. In fact, he didn’t know it was <em> possible </em> for eyes to be that color. It’s distracting. Annoyingly so, and it takes a moment for him to realize that this man - in his entirety - is stunningly attractive. Oh, and he’s also <em> talking. </em></p><p>“-ki? And Saitō! I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. Glad to see everything worked out,” the waiter - Li, apparently - says. There’s something about his voice that’s vaguely familiar, but November can’t quite place it. Again, distracting...and annoying. He’s not sure he likes this Li character.</p><p>Even so, he <em> is </em>an agent of MI6, and a bloody good one at that. He doesn’t miss the slight blush on Kirihara’s face. Nor does he hesitate in donning his most charming smile when Li turns those impossibly midnight eyes on him.</p><p>“A dry martini, please, darling. I’ll be covering everyone’s bill tonight, so please make it out to ‘Jack Simon.’” He punctuates with a wink for good measure. Perhaps he’s laying it on a bit thick, but it’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to flirt with such a gorgeous man, annoying or not. To said man’s credit, Li offers a simple nod and a shy smile. He jots November’s order on a frayed notepad, then moves his attention to July, who he offers a much warmer smile.</p><p>“Would you like something to drink, young sir? Water, maybe?” Li addresses July directly, and waits patiently as the doll looks slowly from the menu to Li’s face. When the waiter doesn’t seem at all alarmed by July’s oddly vacant eyes, November considers he might have passed judgement a bit rashly.</p><p>“Yes. Water,” July says. Li nods, still smiling.</p><p>“Yessir, water it is.” As he writes, his eyes flicker up to April. “And for you, ma’am?”</p><p>“Hmmm…” she hums, one paint-adorned finger trailing down the menu, “let’s start with a glass of the Sauvignon and two shots of whatever liquor is the strongest, shall we? Thank you, love.” Li’s expression doesn’t change at all, still the picture of polite hospitality. Either he’s a saint or a fantastic actor. November almost can’t tell which. Almost. But although Li’s smiling might be warm and welcoming, his dark eyes can’t entirely hide a certain calculating detachment, though he masks it well. If it weren’t November’s job to notice such things, he knows he’d miss it entirely. Detective Kirihara certain has. <em> Her </em>eyes, disgustingly fond, never leave Li’s face. Even the most capable humans can be fools to their emotions, it seems. He would pity her if he could feel such things; but as it stands, he feels only the patronizing sort of amusement with which one might regard a particularly dumb puppy. A sidelong glance at April says he’s not the only one.</p><p>Li finishes writing down their drink orders, offering a polite smile before he moves off.</p><p>“Nice to see you again, Misaki. Saitō.”</p><p>“Likewise, Li,” Kirihara responds warmly. Saitō grins.</p><p>“Try not to eat the kitchen out of stock, Shengshun,” he says. Li blinks, surprised and deceptively innocent. The shy smile returns.</p><p>“Yes, sir. I’ll try.” Then he’s gone, as abruptly as he arrived. A beat of silence follows in his absence. April whistles.</p><p>“That one’s quite the looker, no?” The quirking of her lips can only mean one thing, in November’s tenured experience; trouble. She rests her chin in her hands and turns gold-brown eyes on Kirihara, whose face is still dusted pink. “You calling dibs here, Chief?”</p><p>Misaki’s brow knits in affected confusion, but the way her blush returns two-fold ensures she isn’t fooling anyone.</p><p>“D-<em> dibs? </em> ” she splutters. Her face shifts like it can’t decide whether to look confused, affronted, or plain embarrassed. “This is only the second time we’ve met, I don’t-- he’s a <em> human being, </em>you can’t just ‘call dibs!’ A-and who said I’m interested, anyway?”</p><p>Her face is positively <em> flaming. </em>For a long moment, no one speaks. Then April and Kōno burst into giggles in unison, and November hides his own amused smile behind one hand. Saitō just looks confused, though November catches the flicker of flat resignation in his eyes, quickly covered up. July remains as impassive as ever. November schools his expression into something - hopefully - less patronizing and drops his hand.</p><p>“My dear Detective,” he says, “I believe the...<em> rosy </em>hue you’re currently exhibiting says more than enough. Don’t you think?”</p><p>If he possessed the capacity for concern, the transition from red to nearly purple would definitely be concerning; and if looks could kill then the wordless glare being leveled at him would certainly cause him to burst into flames. Unfortunately for Kirihara, she isn’t a contractor. Her glare - as impressively terrifying as it is - is not, in fact, deadly. Instead of cowering, November laughs. He can practically feel the flames from across the table.</p><p>“As I was saying before being interrupted,” the Chief deadpans, voice calm despite the murder in her eyes, “my unit-mate disappeared and was erased from our peers’ memories using ME technology. I can only assume that I was pardoned thanks to my father. I joined Section 4 because the situation didn’t sit right with me. We weren’t close friends, but Honda wasn’t a monster. So I figured not all contractors are monsters, either, and maybe I could help them in some way.”</p><p>Her voice remains calm, until the very end, when her jaw clenches and she bites out from behind gritted teeth, “<em> However, </em> I’m beginning to think that assessment requires some <em> reevaluation. </em>”</p><p>If Kirihara Misaki were a contractor, November has no doubt she’d be able to send people directly to hell with one bone-chilling look. No wonder her team is scared shitless of her. He feels genuine respect for the woman growing in his chest, and it’s such a surprise that it shocks a real, honest laugh from him.</p><p>Immediately, his hands come up to cover his face, shoulders shaking as he attempts to reign himself in. November 11 isn’t often wrong, but he admits that his previous conclusion was. Section-Chief Kirihara Misaki is no fool. His laugher subsides, and he pulls his hands away from his face. The three humans at the table look shell-shocked, April is grinning, and July is staring up at him. November imagines he can read slight surprise in that vacant blue gaze. He turns to Kirihara.</p><p>“You’re a formidable woman, Detective. I do so look forward to working with you.”</p><p>Gradually, the shock leaves her face, replaced with an exasperated smile. “Well,” she says, “if nothing else, it certainly won’t be boring.”</p><p>The remainder of the meal passes in good humor, and no one mentions the way Kirihara’s cheeks color whenever Li comes by to attend to them. Eventually the hour turns late, the sun already well below the horizon. April, November knows, will likely stay until last call, or until she drinks the bar dry. But July, despite being a doll, is still only nine years old. He begins nodding off shortly after Kōno and Saitō take their leave, and not long after that November scoops the drowsy doll against his chest and makes to stand.</p><p>“Time to get this one to bed, hm?” he says to April, who waves a dismissive hand, and Kirihara, who smiles gently at the sleeping doll. He turns away from the table, careful not to jostle July too much, and nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds Li standing just behind him. Only his extensive training allows him to keep his surprise to a slight widening of his eyes. He hadn’t heard the waiter approach <em> at all. </em>Not a single sound. Is he drunker than he though?</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” Li says, hand rising to the back of his neck. Dark eyes fall to July, brows coming together, “Is he alright?”</p><p>“He’s fine,” November says, willing his heartbeat to return to normal, “just tired. I’m taking him up to bed now. No need to worry, love.”</p><p>The shy smile is back. The same one Li has been wearing all evening, and that November has come to realize is completely, utterly fake. It’s a good fake, a damn good one: disarming and sweet and effortlessly attractive. Does he practice in a mirror? The man must make a fortune in tips, despite his service being lukewarm at best. Is that all that’s going on here, just a subpar waiter beefing his pockets with Oscar-worthy fake charm? November’s instincts tell him no, that there’s something else, and he’s learned to trust his instincts. They’ve saved his hide more times than he’d care to count.</p><p>“Say,” he begins with perfect nonchalance, “it’s Li, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Yes, sir. Li Shengshun.”</p><p>“Please, call me Jack. Jack Simon. Apologies if this is much too forward, but are you seeing anyone, Li?” Midnight eyes quirk in momentary confusion before blinking wide. Li’s surprised face is adorable, November will admit. But is it <em> real, </em>or just more affectation? November himself is surprised at how badly he wants to find out.</p><p>“No, s-- Jack. Not at the moment, I only just moved to Japan recently.”</p><p>“Oh? Sounds like there’s a story there.” He puts on his most rakish grin, the one April’s dubbed the ‘cat-got-the-cream’ grin, “Perhaps on your day off you’d allow me the pleasure of taking you out, and I might hear the whole story?”</p><p>For a moment, Li looks totally, genuinely perplexed and a bit...lost? It’s the one expression of his that November’s <em> sure </em>is real. Something flickers in those strange midnight eyes, so fast he almost thinks he imagined it. Almost, but not quite. He wants to see it again.</p><p>“You want...with me? Why?” Li asks, and...that’s not right. Not what November was expecting, anyhow. If Li is using his good looks and charm as a means of fattening his checks, surely he’s used to people asking him out? Or, perhaps this is one of those Japanese cultural differences. November thought he had a hold on them, but there <em> are </em>quite a few, so it’s not unthinkable that he missed one or two…</p><p>“‘Why?’ Because you interest me, of course. Also, I’m fond of spending time in the company of gorgeous people,” he says, and lets his eyes flicker down to Li’s open collar; lingering on the delicate curve of the man’s throat and the barely visible collarbones under starched white cotton. It’s only a second or three, but November finds it oddly difficult to pull his gaze back up. His mouth feels dry, and he realizes that Li Shengshun is bloody dangerous. Li’s blushing lightly when November once again meets his eye, “and I’m new to the country, as well. Perhaps we could go sight-seeing together? That is, of course, if you’re amenable.”</p><p>There’s a long beat of silence wherein Li says nothing, expression pensive. Considering. In those moments of silence, November wonders if he could have misjudged this. He’s been wrong once today already. Logically, he could be again, rare as it is. Li very well could say no, turn him down politely, and quietly return to work. November wouldn’t really have <em> lost </em>anything in such a scenario, he’s only just met the man, after all. So why does the thought dissatisfy him so?</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>One word. Spoken softly, but clearly.The Shy Smile is back, and November is made abruptly, acutely aware that <em> he </em>might be the one getting played here. Still, he has his answer.</p><p>“Yes?” he asks, because it never hurts to be certain. Li nods.</p><p>“Yes. I’ll go out with you, Jack.”</p><p>November smiles, feeling oddly victorious.</p><p>They hit a slight snag when he asks Li for his phone number: the man doesn’t have one. A bit strange, for a younger man in today’s world, but understandable. Cell phone bills can get expensive. In the end, they agree to meet up outside the hotel on a shared off day, a week out. Arrangements made, Li offers a polite goodbye and returns to his work.</p><p>As November watches the dark haired man walk away, he realizes his arm’s gone numb. Shifting the still-sleeping July to his other side, he turns to bid April and Kirihara a final goodnight, only to find the Detective has vanished. When had that happened? April is looking at him in the way that means she thinks he’s an idiot, but an entertaining idiot that she keeps around for the spectacle.</p><p>“Stealing the new boss’ boyfriend, One-One? Hell of a team building exercise,” she says, words slurring slightly.</p><p>“She’s not our boss. We still report to Decade, just like always,” he says. He’s already turning away to stride from the bar, towards the lobby. Right before he reaches the door, he calls back over his shoulder. “Besides, she didn’t call dibs!”</p><p>In his arms, July stirs slightly, but does not wake. April’s cackle follows them all the way to the elevator.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s tucked July comfortably into bed, November goes to the large windows in the suite’s living room and looks out over the city. The silhouette of the Gate looms in the distance, omnipresent. Perhaps he should feel uneasy being this close, or even comforted, but he feels neither. Hell’s Gate may be responsible for his abilities as a contractor, but the Gate did not <em> make </em>him. That, he did all on his own.</p><p>His thoughts drift back to Kirihara’s words at dinner, and his reflection in the window smiles. It isn’t a kind smile. No, not all contractors are monsters. After all, monsters are born, not created. If he had never manifested as a contractor, would the blood on his hands disappear? No. That blood is too old to ever be washed out; it’s dried onto his knuckles, under his fingernails, into his very pores. It’s a permanent stain that he and April share.</p><p>He thinks, then, of Li Shengshun. Of dark eyes that cannot quite hide something...cold. Whoever Li is, November is absolutely sure that he has never met the man. Not truly. Who, then, is Li? Is he simply a charming young waiter with some small, private demons? Is he a monster, hiding amongst sheep? It’s far too early to say, and November cannot exactly say <em> why, </em>but he's determined to find out. There’s a logical explanation for his resolve, surely, but it has been a long day and he can’t really be arsed to work it out.</p><p>Even up this high, he can still hear the Tokyo traffic. November leans his forehead against the cool glass of this window and shuts his eyes. As Kirihara had said, their time in Japan is proving to be anything but dull. When his eyes open to the blue-black of the sky it reminds him of a certain impossibly colored pair of eyes.</p><p><em> I am </em> going <em> to see what your real face looks like, Li Shengshun. Count on it. </em></p><p><br/>
November 11 never was able to leave well enough alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. well played, asshole</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following Monday, work goes much the same as always. There are no new changes in the status of BK-201, and as of yet Section 4 has neglected to consult their resident contractors on any case in particular. Of course, this doesn’t mean there isn’t plenty of backlogged work to sift through, in case MI6’s dream team notices anything previously overlooked. For the most part it’s admittedly tedious work, and the scant little he sees of Detective Kirihara and her cohorts proves no different than usual. November isn’t exactly <em> expecting </em>it to be otherwise, but the human ego is easily bruised, especially in regards to matters of the heart. Kirihara remains professional as always, however. He’s almost embarrassed at his surprise.</p><p>The work-week picks up rapidly when Section 4 is brought in on an active stream of brutal serial killings. Kirihara’s friend in the Astronomics division is able to pick out a pattern between the times of the murders and the activity of a certain star, and the hunt for Unknown Contractor FL-373 begins post-haste. November quickly learns that, while their technology is ahead of the field, Section 4’s psychological profiling of contractors leaves much to be desired.</p><p>“You can’t make the mistake of treating this as a run-of-the-mill murderous psychopath,” he attempts to explain to an exasperated Kōno, “We’re dealing with a contractor, here. The patterns of thought, of behavior, won’t be the same.”</p><p>“So we’re just back at square one,” Kōno says. His tone is flat as he tucks away his already pitifully small case file.</p><p>“Wrong yet again, I’m afraid.” November allows himself a smirk, “No doubt you would be, if April and I weren’t here to offer our invaluable input. As it stands, there are a few questions we should be asking; the answers to which will be instrumental in identifying and apprehending FL-373. Firstly, why these victims? If we were after a human, there might be some unifying behavioral or physical trait which elicited an emotional reaction in the killer. Age, hair color, height, and disposition, among other things. That cannot be the case with a contractor, so what <em> does </em>unify the victims?”</p><p>“Well,” Saitō flips open his file and looks over the victims, a small frown on his face, “they’re all wealthy. Influential families. Gender doesn’t seem to play a part, though none of them could be called ‘young,’ exactly.”</p><p>“Right. So, wealth and influence. The victims all have it, so where is it going? When contractors are involved, always follow the assets, gentlemen. Pull the victims’ financial records. Investments, debts, loans; no matter how seemingly unrelated or insignificant. Find out what sort of unsavory business these poor chaps might have been mixed up in.”</p><p>“Hold up,” Kōno says, “you think this was...organized?”</p><p>This is why November tends to avoid working with humans, this obliviousness. He turns a patient smile on the blond man.</p><p>“Logically.”</p><p>Kōno looks irritated by his blasé attitude, jaw locking up briefly, but the Japanese officer manages to keep himself in check.</p><p>“<em> Logically,” </em>he deadpans, “care to elaborate?”</p><p>November is able to restrain the smirk this time, but it’s a near thing. His mouth opens to explain, but then April is swinging a chair around and steepling her fingers on the table, body angled towards Kōno.</p><p>“Here’s the deal, love. Contractors don’t kill for no reason. And with victims this high profile, you can bet it’ll be a damn good one; high profile means higher risk. So <em> why? </em>What motive does FL-373 have, to decide the risk is worth whatever they’re getting out of this?”</p><p>“So they’re a contractor for hire? Getting paid a steep sum of money to take out certain members of influential families…” Kōno looks pensive now. November hums.</p><p>“Perhaps, but there are other avenues we should consider. Believe it or not, contractors <em> do </em> possess ideals and ambitions, on occasion. All within the realm of self-interest, of course. They <em> could </em> be financially motivated. Hopefully, the victims’ financial records will shed some more light on our unknown star,” November says, soundly shutting the manila folder in front of him and leaning back in his chair. Kōno and Saitō are scanning the file <em> again, </em>and he wonders idly how many times a human can read the same information and expect to find new leads. When they give no indication of departure, he not-so-discreetly clears his throat. Saitō glances up, distracted, and Kōno is back to looking annoyed. November meets his gaze expectantly, unfazed. Saitō clears his throat, an awkward echo of the brit.</p><p>“Thank you for your time, agents. We’ll pass on your input to the Chief, and she’ll be in touch with any new information as it reaches us,” he stands crisply and offers and quick bow, Kōno following with much less urgency. The door clicks shut behind them. November and April are left alone at the table, and in the silence he can hear the minute clinking of tableware as July bustles efficiently about, preparing lunch. </p><p>“How about it, One-One? You think this has to do with The Syndicate?” April asks into the quiet, eyes sharp despite the three beers she’s already had today. They share a long look between them. He breaks eye contact after a fashion and sighs, vision going unfocused, the figurative gears in his mind nearly audible as he works through the knowledge available to him. A hand comes up to rub across his brow.</p><p>The Syndicate, though it is an international organization, receives the majority of its funding and resources from Japan. Working even that much out had been a long, arduous process that had more to do with sussing out well-concealed gaps in investment records than cut-and-dry Point A to Point B investigation. Even thinking about it sets the memory of a migraine fluttering at the edges of his mind. He pushes it away.</p><p>Though not directly linked to any Syndicate activity, the names of several victims are familiar to him. Their clan names, at least. A handful of affluent Japanese families are on a shortlist to be monitored, and November doesn’t believe in the level of coincidence that would account for so many similarities.</p><p>July sets a mug of tea in front of him. Earl Grey, from the smell. Absently, he reaches out and takes a sip before turning his focus back to April.</p><p>“I’m almost certain of it,” he says. A bold statement, but November isn’t known for being timid. “So: why would a previously unnoticed and unassuming contractor begin a murder campaign against possible Syndicate investors?”</p><p>April sips her own Irish coffee. July lays out three sandwich-laden plates before taking a seat, and tucks into his lunch with the same quiet efficiency with which he takes to everything else.</p><p>“The Syndicate’s plans are still mostly unknown to us,” April muses. “We know they have a powerful interest in Gate-related phenomena and they employ both dolls and contractors for missions of varying purpose. Notably, one Mr. BK-201. Still, it’s unlikely that FL-373 is a former Syndicate operative gone rogue.”</p><p>November nods. “Vengeance isn’t in a contractor’s nature. If they wanted to leave the Syndicate, better to excommunicate themselves and simply disappear. Low risk, high gain; anything else would be a fool’s errand. But...if they’re not associated with the Syndicate themselves, what’s pitting them against it? Where’s the advantage?”</p><p>He can tell from the crease in April’s brow that they’re of a mind: something is missing. A crucial, absent factor that casts an obscuring shadow over the entire case, preventing the pieces from fitting together. He clicks his tongue.</p><p>This is going to be particularly irksome, he can feel it. With deft handling, it could also prove justifiably worthwhile in terms of intelligence gained. Already he can feel a migraine forming. This better be bloody worth it.</p><p> </p><p>Friday rolls around and the officers of Section 4 are no closer to figuring out the connection between the victims of FL-373 and The Syndicate. November has already committed to letting them do so on their own, to avoid showing his hand just yet. Even so, he can only take so much human incompetence before he starts wondering <em> exactly </em>how much Kirihara’s team would suffer if he turned Kōno into a particularly dumb ice sculpture. In the end, logic wins out. Kōno remains unfrozen. November refuses to admit how near a decision it is.</p><p>He truly doesn’t care for working with humans; their idiocy is far too trying, even on his almost boundless patience.</p><p>However, work and play are wholly different animals, and the end of another work-week brings with it an opportunity he’d come close to forgetting in all the excitement. He has a date with one Li Shengshun. A human; but an attractive, enigmatic, <em> compelling </em>human. November isn’t ashamed to admit he’s looking forward to it.</p><p>He’s not much known for dressing down, but April practically wrestles the outfit onto him, and of course the logical choice is the path of least resistance. Unfortunately, the path of least resistance doesn’t include a suit jacket. It isn’t cold in Tokyo quite yet, but November can’t help but feel oddly exposed without the extra layer. At least she let him wear slacks.</p><p>He <em> does </em> have to admit that - despite it not being his usual - the pale blue sweater/grey shirt combo she has him in is complimentary. It’s absolutely a begrudging admission. ‘Complimentary’ is the least of the descriptors he reaches for when Li Shengshun melts effortlessly from the bustle in front of the hotel, dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt. A shirt that Li seems to have forgotten has five buttons, rather than two. The dry mouth returns, and November berates himself for forgetting the <em> danger </em> Li poses. Whether it’s the product of sheer oblivious perfection (which he highly doubts is even possible) or masterful acting, there is a <em> pull </em>to the young man that November has no doubt would be disastrous to the average person.</p><p>Lucky, then, that he is a professional, and far from average.</p><p>He keeps his posture lax as Li approaches. Welcoming, amicable. Pleased without being over-eager. On his face, he fixes a small, approachable smile. Li tugs his hands out of his pockets as he gets closer, and his previously hiked shirt shifts to cover the small patch of exposed skin at his navel. November tries not to mourn the loss. He succeeds, mostly.</p><p>Li’s smile is warmer than the last time they met, more friendly, though not quite familiar. But is it <em> real, </em>or contrived as carefully as November’s own? It’s impossible to say for sure. The thought should, perhaps, not be as...thrilling as he finds it.</p><p>“Hello, Jack. Have you been waiting here long?” Li asks when he stops in front of November. Idly, the brit notices the few inches of height he has on Li. His smile widens.</p><p>“Not long at all, darling. Though, even a few hours of idle time would be well worth your company. Thank you again for agreeing to meet me.” He keeps his tone polite despite the flirtation in his words, expecting a blush or equally polite words of welcome.</p><p>“Do you use that line on all your dates?” Li is still smiling, but his brow is quirked, and the effect on his overall expression is a mischievous, playful cast. November blinks. Then he laughs; not entirely genuinely, but a short, surprised sort of laugh. Interesting. The shy, well-mannered Li has a witty side. Very interesting.</p><p>“Not all, but perhaps it is getting a bit tired. Some new material might be in order, have any suggestions?” November’s smirking, hand slipping into a pocket as he shifts his weight onto one leg. Li hums.</p><p>“Hmm, I really couldn’t say. I don’t date all that much,” he says. Not impossible to believe, but not easy either. Even now, every third person that walks past glances at the dark-haired man, appraisingly.</p><p>“Ah, a heartbreaker, then. Should I be honored or worried?” </p><p>“That depends on the date, probably.”</p><p>“Probably?”</p><p>“Well, I suppose I have weakness for handsome, light-haired individuals. An awful date might not even be enough to ruin your...advantage.” It’s a terribly transparent attempt at a line, and Li is blushing even as he says it. November laughs again, charmed despite the shaky delivery.</p><p>“Then let’s not test it, hey?” He almost misses the tiny flinch of Li’s shoulder at the last word. The man hides it well, playing it off seamlessly, but November silently notes the odd reaction. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”</p><p>Soft-looking dark hair bounces as Li shakes his head. November smiles, more gently this time.</p><p>“Neither have I. It’s been a while since my last visit to Tokyo, and I never did get around to trying much Japanese food. Do you know a good place?” he asks. At the mention of food, Li’s eyes seem to light up, and he nods eagerly.</p><p>“If you’d care to try ramen, I know a local place with good quality ingredients and portion sizes. It’s a bit out of the way, though…”</p><p>It’s impossible to say no to those eyes. And keeping his date happy is the logical course of action, which goes without saying.</p><p>“Sounds perfect. I can drive us, if you’d like; my rental is in the hotel car park.”</p><p>“If it’s no trouble, that would be very kind. Thank you, Jack.” With that, the Shy Smile makes its first appearance of the evening. The sight of it puts November slightly on edge as he’s reminded what he’s actually doing here, coupled with the possibility that the upper hand might not belong to him as soundly as he’d like. Yes, Li is gorgeous, and polite, and charming. However, he’s also a masterful actor as well as an unknown variable. He could be harmless, or a dangerous liability. Either way, November needs to keep his guard up.</p><p>Making their way to the car park, he can’t help but feel it’s something of a shame. If he were human, with a mundane job and mundane troubles, it would be all too easy to let himself be taken in by the magnetism of Li Shengshun. He almost stops walking from surprise at the thought. Never once since his manifestation has he considered what his life would be like if he were still human. That line of thinking is futile, a waste of time. Not to mention completely illogical. There is no going back, and even if there was, manifesting as a contractor has never counted among his regrets. So what is it about this <em> human </em>that’s affected him so, in such a short amount of time?</p><p>He ponders this during the drive to the ramen shop, between beats of pleasant conversation with the human in question. A large part of Li’s allure is, of course, the mystery. Mystery that no one but November seems to notice, and that doesn’t abate in the slightest once he gets Li talking about himself. He’s a university student from China, studying Astronomy. A strange thing to study, obsolete as it’s become in recent years. He has no family to speak of. November doesn’t press <em> that </em>particular topic: he senses it’s something of a sore spot. By all counts, Li Shengshun is exceptional only in that he’s exceptionally normal.</p><p>Except the glaringly obvious fact that he <em> isn’t. </em> Nothing in Li’s account of his life explains the guarded, almost cold cast of his dark eyes; a shadow he can’t fully conceal even now. It strikes November that perhaps that coldness intrigues him so because it’s <em> familiar. </em> The same ice runs in his veins, after all. He revises his operating question to line up with this new observation: <em> why </em>does polite, unassuming Li Shengshun have the haunted eyes of a killer?</p><p>Somehow, November knows the answer will be hard won. And still he wants to know, badly. It’s important. Why, he can’t say, but his instincts are screaming that it’s vital he figures out the mystery that is the dark-haired beauty in his passenger seat.</p><p>Not that November needs much prodding in that direction.</p><p> </p><p>The ramen shop is tucked away in a small, cafe-esque building, and the man behind the counter greets Li by name when they enter. Li makes a bee-line for a table near the middle of the dining room with a familiarity that suggests a habit. November shoves away his discomfort at sitting with his back exposed to the street, and settles across from Li. Almost immediately, the man who’d greeted them trundles over with a wide smile.</p><p>“Hello, Li-kun! Brought a friend with you today, did you? Very good! Will you both be having the usual?”</p><p>Li seems to color a bit, glancing from the man to November, who smiles in a way he hopes is amused while still being kind. In all fairness, his amusement isn’t often ‘kind’ by any sense of the word. He thinks his attempt is rather successful, considering.</p><p>“It seems you’re more familiar with the menu than I, darling. I’ll defer to your superior knowledge. Order us both whatever you’d like; I’ll pay.”</p><p>“You’re sure?” Li’s smile is hesitant. Shy, but this time it doesn’t seem fake. Though, it also doesn’t reach his eyes. November nods.</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>“Thank you, Jack.”</p><p>Li rattles off a list of dishes and the waiter hurries off, humming happily. November has the inkling that they might be taking home leftovers. Having discussed the ins and outs of Li’s life on the drive over, conversation now turns naturally to the life of one ‘Jack Simon.’ November knows his cover ID top to bottom, but lies always work better when peppered with the truth.</p><p>“I’m here on business, but my sister and younger brother often travel with me. I believe you met them the other night at the bar: Henry and Neveiah.” The names roll off his tongue easily. Years of practice tend to do that.</p><p>“Are you a police officer? Misaki and Saitō were there with you,” Li says, appearing for all the world to be genuinely interested.</p><p>“Oh no, nothing like that. By trade I’m a psychologist, and occasionally I’ll consult on a profile for the police. But I’m really more of a,” November fights to keep the sharp edge out of his voice, “independent contractor.”</p><p>Li gives zero indication that he’s picked up on the double entendre, only nodding in the active-listening way humans tend to do.</p><p>“That sounds exciting! Just be careful, the criminals in this city have a habit of mixing up civilians in their...activities. I know from experience. It wouldn’t be good to make your siblings worry.” There’s a lilt to Li’s last sentence that sounds...sad. Instead of focusing on that, November chooses to pick up the topic just before it.</p><p>“Experience, you said? Sounds to me like there’s a story there.”</p><p>Li laughs, but before he can answer the waiter is back, placing steaming bowls of ramen on the table between them. Li thanks the man graciously and - before November can follow suit - has already lifted his bowl to his lips. Chopsticks move at a rapid speed, clicking on the edge of the bowl; but otherwise no sound comes from the student’s side of the table. Not even a slurp. In fifteen seconds flat the clicking comes to an abrupt halt, and Li sets the now-empty bowl back on the table.</p><p>Few things in life truly shock November 11. Especially since his manifestation, things that <em> would </em>have elicited shock only bring mild surprise. But...watching his date consume a full bowl of ramen in an inhuman amount of time, with complete nonchalance? He realizes he’s staring at Li, wide-eyed, and quickly schools his expression.</p><p>“Sorry,” Li says, “do you need help with the chopsticks?”</p><p>November tries not to laugh, really. That would usually be enough to hold himself in check, but nothing that has to do with Li Shengshun is ‘usual.’ He’s quickly coming to learn that. And while he certain does <em> not giggle, </em>the very manly chuckles spilling unchecked from his lips turn to full-bellied laughter before he can stop them. His hands come up to cover his face.</p><p>“M-my apologies,” he manages between spurts of laughter, “I...I don’t mean to laugh, really.”</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” Li’s voice sounds confused, maybe even bordering on wary. Well, that’s new. November gets himself back under control and drops his hands into his lap. When he meets Li’s eyes, the man looks amused, if a bit perplexed. Odd. November picks up his chopsticks easily and leans forward to take a bite of fatty pork and noodles. The pork nearly melts in his mouth, and the spices in the broth flood over his tongue. He makes an appreciative noise and swallows.</p><p>“It’s delicious. Excellent choice, love.”</p><p>“Right? I’m glad you like it.” And Li <em> does </em>look glad, smile small and content. The waiter appears and sets another bowl in front of him.</p><p>That ramen, as well as the next fifteen bowls, go much the same as the first. November steadily works his way through his bowl and tries not to stare. The more time he spends with Li, the more the man’s very <em> existence </em>seems impossible. No person, human or otherwise, should be able to eat that much food in one sitting. Especially not so fast. Like many other things regarding Li, November is learning to roll with this new discovery.</p><p>“You never did tell me that story, you know. One might think you’re dodging the question,” November says once Li seems to finally be finished. The student looks up to meet his eye, confused. November smirks. “Your daring brush with the criminal underworld? I thought you mentioned having <em> experience. </em>”</p><p>Realization dawns on Li’s face, quickly turning to amusement and slight sheepishness. His fingers toy absently with the hairs at the nape of his neck.</p><p>“It’s how I first met Misaki, she never told you?” he asks. When the answer he receives is negative, he shakes his head and laughs lightly. “I was catering a party at a hotel. Just so happens that the party was for the daughter of a mafioso, and <em> she </em> thought it was the perfect setting to stage an attempted coup. Her and Misaki were friends, I think. They at least knew each other. I got swept up in the middle of it all, and Misaki helped me out. That’s pretty much it: my ‘ <em> daring </em>brush’ with crime.”</p><p>Any MI6 agent worth their salt is a halfway decent actor, and November is a damn sight better than most. He’s surprised and disbelieving in all the right places, peppering in apparent empathetic fear and the appropriate amount of intrigue. Honestly, where’s his Oscar?</p><p>“My, what an ordeal! Thank you for the warning, darling, I’ll make sure to be careful. For my siblings’ sake, as you said. Thank goodness that Chief Kirihara was there to keep that lovely face of yours from harm,” he says. Then, to himself, yet still loud enough to be heard, he mumbles, “Maybe I should send her some flowers?”</p><p>Across the table, Li is fixing him with a strange look that’s not quite a glare nor a pout, but still ends up a blend of both. </p><p>“Are you messing with me?” Li deadpans. At least he tries to, but his voice betrays a definite whine. It shouldn’t be endearing. Certainly not cute. Any other human, and November would feel only annoyance or condescending amusement. He is, admittedly, amused; but rather than condescension he feels only curiosity. How far can he push this?</p><p>“What, you don’t think flowers would be a good idea? You’re probably right, she doesn’t seem the flowers type, does she? What about, say...a gun?”</p><p>“Jack.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, you’re right: she <em> is </em>rather fond of her current firearm. Oh, I know!” He snaps his fingers, “A new pantsuit.”</p><p>“<em> Jack, </em>please.”</p><p>“Oh, would you like one as well? A few alterations might be necessary, but I’m <em> sure </em>you could pull-”</p><p>He’s cut off by the tips of Li’s fingers pressing against his lips. The dark-haired man is leaning over the table, brow furrowed, arm outstretched. His expression isn’t angry, exactly; more bemused and exasperated. His midnight eyes are <em> dark, </em> nearly black. November fights down a shiver that threatens to snake its way up his spine. Inexplicably, his instincts are screaming that he’s in very real, very imminent <em> danger, </em> which makes no sense when he’s sitting in a mostly empty restaurant well before sundown, a mere human the only being within striking distance.</p><p>A mere human he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from. It’s as if he’s trapped in blue-black eyes, and the longer he stays pinned there the clearer he sees the flinty, cold <em> something </em> that landed him here in the first place. Alarm and adrenalin are shrieking through his mind, and no amount of rationalization or logical thinking seems to be working against them. Li’s fingers are warm against his lips, and if November were a weaker man he would adamantly deny that lust is singing a counter-note in his veins. Alas, a weaker man he is not. What he <em> is, </em> is suddenly, painfully aware that he is not the one in control here. How the hell had Li managed to turn the tables on him so fast? His battle instincts are beginning to awaken, shouting at him to <em> move, </em> to fight back or flee, and he can almost <em> feel </em>the temperature of the air dropping-</p><p>Until Li’s lips quirk upwards in a roguish smirk, shot through with lingering exasperation. He pulls his hand away without much hurry and sits back in his chair. Never once do his eyes leave November’s own, and the brit can feel his racing heartbeat in his bloody <em> throat. </em></p><p>“You know,” Li says, voice soft and conversational as ever, “it isn’t polite to tease people, Jack.”</p><p>Oh, this little minx is <em> good. </em> November is honest enough with himself to admit when he’s been outplayed, and Li has just done so expertly. As November’s pulse evens out and tension leeches from his shoulders, he finds it replaced with a feeling he rarely applies to <em> any </em> human: admiration. More than the appreciation of a pretty face, more even than genuine respect; he has <em> never </em>had a single reason to admire the foolish race he’s long since left behind. After all, what reason could there possibly be when humans are slower, stupider, and weaker than any contractor? Than November himself?</p><p>And yet, Li has just soundly outmaneuvered him with a truly admirable show of wit and - dare he say it - intimidation. November huffs a disbelieving laugh.</p><p>“You...you’re something else entirely, Li Shengshun.” He shakes his head, finally breaking contact with midnight eyes. Even so, their shape and color hang stubbornly in his mind.</p><p> </p><p><em> And you, November 11, are a damn bloody </em>fool.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Writing the dialogue for November and especially between he and Hei is so much fun! Please leave a comment and let me know if you find them ooc at all. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am perpetually cursed to love rarepairs, and there was a inexcusable lack of Hei/November 11 content on this website. This is very much a 'I have to do everything myself' fic. I hope y'all will enjoy reading it as much as I'm gonna enjoy writing it. We about to go on a wild ride, folks.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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